Wake Up
by AnnGry
Summary: During the daytime all seems well and good in LazyTown, but once the sun sets getting a good night's sleep is easier said than done. Nothing can hurt you in a dream... unless it's a waking nightmare.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The TV series "LazyTown" was created Magnús Scheving and is owned by Turner Broadcasting System. This work of fanfiction is solely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters depicted in this story, nor do I gain any profit from using them.

* * *

Stephanie squinted under the brilliance of the spotlight. She shielded her eyes and tried to see out into the audience. It was hard to make out anything beyond vague shapes but the thunderous applause told her it was a full house in the theater. The noise fell off into a soft rumble, then quiet. Down in the orchestra pit the band started to play. The stage was all hers. It was time for her to dance.

The ruffles of her skirt billowed up around her in a pink cloud as she twirled on the points of her toes. With practiced poise she floated across the floor in time with the string quartet accompanying her. Every movement was perfectly choreographed, one smooth gesture flowing into the next. Her feet moved deftly and her arms swayed in elegant arcs.

She had trained endlessly for this moment. It filled her with elation and lifted her spirits so high that she could fly. She leapt up high and soared through the air, weightless for that exhilarating moment. Even her descent was graceful as she touched down gently back onto the polished stage.

 _R-r-ri-i-ip—_

Something had happened to the floor to make the surface sticky, and as she raised her feet up the soles of her shoes made a terrible noise like ripping Velcro. It tore through the sweet sounds of the orchestra like a record scratch. Stephanie stumbled to a halt in the middle of the stage and the band droned to a standstill, leaving her in silence.

The faceless masses coughed and murmured. Stephanie lifted her chin and struck a new pose, determined to keep going. But when she tried to spin into the next step of her dance the floor sucked at her shoes again. Every time she pulled her feet free it made that horrible noise, _rip rip rip rip-rip-rip-rip—_ and the stage pulled up under her steps like hot tar, warped beyond recognition.

The audience stirred and rumbled, growing more disturbed. The spotlights glared down on Stephanie and made her sweat, pricking her skin so that it felt hot and tight. They seemed to shine brighter than before and she could barely see anything through all the spots.

Stephanie's heart pounded hard in her chest and her pulse hammered against her eardrums but it couldn't drown out the boos and hisses from the crowd. Her eyes stung with sweat and the threat of tears. Above her the spotlights kept getting brighter and brighter, shining so strongly it felt like she was burning under the force of that illumination and the discrimination of the spectators.

All the while the floor kept getting more sticky and tacky like she was trying to run across a carpet of flypaper, pulling up in distorted peaks. Finally with one last turn on her heels the ground grabbed hold of her shoes as quick and firm as rubber cement, holding so fast that she almost fell over herself. She swayed and wobbled and threw out her arms to keep her balance while the audience jeered and booed.

She heard one voice over all the rest, a distinctly deep and raspy heckling. It burned Stephanie as strongly as the spotlight.

"Looks like you still need to learn how to _stick_ the landing."

The man stood high up on the catwalk, a stark shadow against the spotlight. His lanky silhouette contrasted sharply against the bright bulbs and Stephanie could barely stand to look at him but she couldn't see anything else. He leered down at her with a big toothy sneer.

"Too bad, Pink-Girl. It's curtains for you."

Something directly over Stephanie's head rattled. It clanked loudly and made the spotlights waver. The heavy curtain was crashing down, dropping fast and hard, cutting off the brightness and plunging Stephanie into a terrible roaring dark. She couldn't pull her feet free of the stage, couldn't move out of the way of the plummeting curtain. She shielded her face with her arms and let out a scream.

* * *

Stephanie screamed and thrashed herself out of her bed. She landed in a heap on the floor and her eyes popped open. Her bedroom glowed a bright pink with the morning sun filtering through her window. She struggled to sit up on the floor and found her blanket had wrapped itself around her feet, tightly binding them together. With a cry she clawed at the fabric to untangle it.

Mayor Meanswell flung open the door and rushed inside to see her. "Stephanie! I heard shouting, is everything okay?"

"Uncle Milford," Stephanie squinted up at her uncle. "I just had the most terrible nightmare!"

"Oh my," the portly man said. "Whatever was it about?"

"I was dancing," Stephanie recalled, "but then my feet… This man…" she jerked the blankets off of her feet at last and wiggled her toes. There was nothing sticking to them now. She shook her head. "It was just a dream. I'm okay now."

"Well, if you're sure," Milford said. "I'm making some toast, why don't you get dressed and come have breakfast?"

"Okay," Stephanie said, and her uncle backed out of the room to give her some privacy.

Stephanie took her time making her bed and changing her clothes. Memories of her dream distracted her even as they faded into the recesses of her mind. She'd been practicing too hard, that was all. Trixie always said that Stephanie didn't need to practice her dancing so much, and maybe she was right. As she slipped into her favorite pink dress she decided to take it easy that day.

Hair brushed, bracelets on, tights and leg warmers pulled up. Stephanie reached for her shoes last, right where she'd left them the night before at the side of her bed. But when she tried to pick them up they held fast to the floor.

Her brow furrowed. Stephanie pulled harder on the shoe until at last she tore if free of the carpeting.

 _R-r-ri-i-ip—_

She dropped it with a gasp. The bottom of her shoe was warped and melted. Staring downwards she saw the sticky tar outline from the sole of her shoe where it had fused with the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The TV series "LazyTown" was created Magnús Scheving and is owned by Turner Broadcasting System. This work of fanfiction is solely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters depicted in this story, nor do I gain any profit from using them.

* * *

Ziggy wiped some sweat off his forehead as he sat waiting in the town square. It was still early but the sun had already burned off the morning dew from the grass and it looked to be another scorching hot summer day. LazyTown had been gripped by a heat wave for the past week and there was no relief in sight.

The little boy waved as soon as he saw Stephanie coming down the street towards him. "Stephanie! Are you ready to practice?" he asked, his hand ready on the boom box sitting at his side.

"Not today, Ziggy," Stephanie said. It was then that Ziggy noticed a strange noise as the pink girl walked towards him. Every step she took made a slapping sort of _flip-flop_ noise against the sidewalk.

"Huh? What's wrong with your shoes?" Ziggy peered down at her feet. Stephanie threw herself down on the bench beside him and pulled up one leg to show the bottom of her shoe. The rubber sole was melted and stretched out like a flipper. "Wow, it looks flatter than a pancake! What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Stephanie said. "They were fine when I took them off yesterday. But then I had this really weird dream last night."

"A dream?" Ziggy tilted his head quizzically.

"Yeah," Stephanie said. "I was dancing on a stage and my shoes stuck to the floor! There was a man there, I think he did it somehow. When I woke up they were ruined." She sighed. "There's no way I can practice my dancing in these."

"You mean you dreamt about your shoes getting ruined, and it really happened?" Ziggy furrowed his brow. Stephanie chewed on her lip.

"Maybe," she said softly, a tentative thought. "It did feel pretty real."

"If your dream came true," Ziggy contemplated, "does that mean if I dream about my room filling up with chocolate, it could come true too?" He let out a wistful sigh. "That's my favorite dream."

Stephanie giggled at her friend. "I don't know, Ziggy. Maybe you should dream about sportscandy instead."

"Hey," Ziggy said, "if you can't practice your dance today, why don't we go get some vegetables from the garden and have a picnic?"

"That's a great idea," Stephanie said, and hopped off of the bench. Her shoes _slapped_ on the burning pavement. "It's too hot to dance today anyway. Let's just relax and take it easy."

"Can we get ice cream too?" Ziggy asked, jumping up alongside her. Stephanie gave a playful shake of her head and led the way.

* * *

Ziggy loved to work in his garden. Being the littlest kid in LazyTown he was often told that he couldn't do certain things or play certain games with the other children. In the garden he was big enough to grow anything he wanted, and he was good at it too. All except for the lollipops he tried to plant, at least.

"Boy, these carrots look great!" Ziggy hummed to himself as he tended his garden. He turned over the soil and watched as the vegetables seemed to grow bigger before his eyes. He wriggled the tip of his spade in against the biggest looking carrot and smacked his lips, already tasting the sweet flavor. This one was ready to harvest.

Setting the spade aside Ziggy gripped the leafy stalk protruding from the dirt. With a cheer he pulled it up out of the garden box— except the vegetable held fast to the soil and refused to be uprooted. Not to be discouraged Ziggy wrapped both hands around the stalk this time. He yanked and tugged as hard as he could and the carrot started to give way at last.

A low rumble emanated from the garden box and all of the vegetables trembled in the dirt. Ziggy could feel the vibrations traveling up the carrot he was trying to pull out like a small scale earthquake. It managed to dislodge the vegetable and he almost had it pulled free.

Something beneath the soil grabbed hold of the other end of the carrot and dragged it back down. Ziggy yelped as he was nearly pulled off his feet. He managed to brace his feet on the side of the box and pulled back harder, fighting to keep the carrot from being sucked down into the dirt. But the garden continued to shudder and rumble until the whole town felt like it was being shaken up and down.

Another vicious tug below the soil yanked Ziggy off his feet again and sent him toppling head first into the garden. The carrot was sucked down with a rapid _shoosh_ and spat dirt into his face. He grabbed hold of the edge of the garden box before he completely tumbled head over heels into the plot and stared with wide eyes at the huge gaping hole where the carrot had been moments before.

It was a black pit that descended down far beyond the dimensions of the garden box, a yawning mouth full of gnarled roots and rocks for teeth. The rumbling came out of this hole that extended all the way down to the center of the earth where a tremendous heat roared up into Ziggy's face in fiery bellows. Clawing up from the bottomless depths there appeared a gaunt and angular man, his eyes and teeth flashing like embers in the pit.

"You know what they say, Candy-Boy," the man leered as he reached up and grabbed Ziggy by the collar of his cape. His fingers burned like hot coals, sending up a smoky hiss from the fabric where he took hold. "When you plant a seed in the ground, what goes down, must come up."

Ziggy tried to scrabble backwards out of the garden box, to pull out of the dark man's grasp, but he couldn't break free. He coughed in the dirt and cried out as he was pulled down into suffocating heat of the pit.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: The TV series "LazyTown" was created Magnús Scheving and is owned by Turner Broadcasting System. This work of fanfiction is solely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters depicted in this story, nor do I gain any profit from using them.

* * *

Trixie kicked a can down the street as she looked for something to do. She'd given up using the playground as the metal equipment burned to the touch from the relentless sun. She found Stephanie wandering around in the shade of the park.

"Hey, Pinkie, want to go for a swim?" Trixie called.

"I can't right now," Stephanie said. "Have you seen Ziggy? He was supposed to meet me in the garden but I can't find him anywhere."

"He's probably taking a nap so he can be hungry for lunch," Trixie said with a snort. "Let's go see him."

The girls let themselves into Ziggy's house when he didn't answer the door. His bedroom looked as though all of the dressers and waste baskets had been dumped out. They waded through discarded bed sheets and piles of wrinkled clothing, heaps of crumpled candy wrappers and half-eaten lollipops. The largest pile rested at the head of the bed and appeared to be trembling.

"Ziggy? Are you in there?" Stephanie prodded gingerly at the sheets. Trixie stepped up beside her and grabbed the corner of a blanket.

"All right, Ziggy, rise and shine!" Trixie snapped the blanket back to expose the boy. Underneath there were even more sheets and shirts and wrappers. Somewhere inside of it a muffled whimper tried to get out.

Together the girls pulled apart more and more layers from the fabric and wrapper cocoon. For all the trash and laundry they threw aside they still had to dig in far deeper than seemed possible before Stephanie let out a yelp of, "I've got him!" and they managed to unearth Ziggy. The little boy gasped and his eyes flew wide open, locking onto Stephanie.

"I saw him!" Ziggy cried. "The man, he tried to get me!" Stephanie's eyes widened to match his stare.

"Are you sure?" Stephanie brushed a few clinging candy wrappers out of the boy's hair and off his shoulders. She paused and stared at the collar of his cape. Sooty black marks discolored Ziggy's cape on either side of his head, a matching set of singed fingerprints. "Ziggy, what happened?"

"I was dreaming about my garden," Ziggy said, "and he grabbed me! He pulled me in and...!" He stopped, craning his neck down to look at the singes on his clothing. He slapped at his cape to brush off the marks but they were burned into the fabric. "It really happened!"

"This can't be possible," Stephanie said.

"What are you guys talking about?" Trixie asked.

"Stephanie dreamed about this scary guy," Ziggy said, "and he melted her shoes! And now I dreamed about him and he burned my cape!"

"Seriously?" Trixie looked between Ziggy and Stephanie, arching an eyebrow at their pale faces. "You think I'll fall for a joke like that?"

"It's not a joke!" Ziggy said. "This guy's really bad!"

"Do you think Pixel or Stingy dreamed about him too?" Stephanie wondered. She looked at Trixie. "What about you, Trixie?"

"Get real!" Trixie laughed. "The heat must be getting to your heads. You'll have to try harder than that if you want to fool me."

"But we're telling the truth!" Ziggy shouted. "What if he comes after you too?"

"Nobody's coming after us," Trixie said. "If you were really in trouble, Sportacus would have come and saved you, right?" Ziggy and Stephanie glanced at each other.

"I guess that's true," Ziggy mumbled.

"Well there you go," Trixie said. "Now how about we all go swimming? I think you both need to chill out."

* * *

Trixie rolled out of bed early. It was hard to rest when the air was so stifling and the sheets were clammy against her skin. When she opened her window a temperate breeze whispered in from outside, the sun only just starting to rise. She sneaked out into the quiet dawn to take advantage of the milder weather while it lasted.

She already knew where she wanted to go. Ziggy's house was just a block or so away. The windows were dark, Ziggy asleep inside. He wouldn't be for long. Trixie snickered under her breath as she crept up underneath his bedroom window.

"O-o-ooh, Zi-i-iggy," Trixie put on her eeriest voice and tapped his window. She moaned like a ghost and scratched her nails against the sill. "Look o-o-out, the bad man is coming to ge-e-et yo-o-ou!"

A short gasp came from inside the room. Trixie tapped and rattled the window again before ducking down and scuttling away with her hand over her mouth to stop from laughing. The window scraped open behind her.

"Who's there?" Ziggy called shrilly. Crouching against the side of the house Trixie wailed again.

"Zi-i-iggy, you have to get o-o-out!"

The boy squeaked and the window slammed shut. Within moments the front door opened. Trixie darted behind the house and looked for somewhere to hide. She took the lid off of the large garbage can sitting there and crawled inside, smothering her laughter as she fitted the lid back on over her head. The air inside was stale and quickly grew warm from her body heat but she ignored the sweat creeping down her scalp.

It was the perfect setup. Ziggy would come investigating, and when he came around Trixie would pop out and scare him. If only she could keep quiet long enough so that he wouldn't catch on. Her giggles echoed all around her in the can.

Another voice giggled with her. A deep, raspy cackling rose up and reverberated off the metal siding until it was deafening. There was only black that Trixie could see and only the cramped confines of the can that she could feel but the presence of the other voice was undeniable and it made the hair on her neck stand on end. No joke was worth this ordeal. Trixie tried to throw the lid off of the can to get away.

She managed to raise the lid up enough to see a sliver of rosy dawn sky. Then a dark shadow cut off her view, someone tall and skinny looming over her. The man laughed as he jammed the lid back down.

"Tell me if you've heard this joke before, Loud-Girl, if you _can_."

Trixie felt the trash can lurch and crash onto its side, throwing her roughly. She bounced and banged against the metal as the can received a shove and went tumbling and careening over turf and concrete.

The sweltering air churned around her tumbling body. The temperature kept climbing with each passing moment, so thick with heat that she could barely breathe enough to shout. The disembodied cackling kept echoing around her and drowned out her own grunts and cries. She tried to pound against the lid of the can but it held shut tight as though welded in place.

"And now," the horrible laughter declared, "for the punchline!"

The trash can leapt off the ground and Trixie almost floated weightless, her stomach rising towards her throat until gravity reclaimed her and hurled her back down. The can smashed against something solid with an earsplitting crash and the darkness exploded into sizzling hot colors.

The force of it jerked Trixie upright in bed. She clutched her head while her room spun nauseatingly around her and she panted for breath, the air humid and sour.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: The TV series "LazyTown" was created Magnús Scheving and is owned by Turner Broadcasting System. This work of fanfiction is solely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters depicted in this story, nor do I gain any profit from using them.

* * *

Stingy leaned against the brick wall under the shade and looked moodily at the sports field. The hardtop had baked in the sun until it sizzled underfoot like a frying pan. The humidity was ruining his starched shirt.

"Did you get any sleep?" Stephanie asked as she and Ziggy came walking down the sidewalk.

"Only a little," Ziggy said. "When I finally did he came and scratched on my window! I couldn't sleep the rest of the night..."

"Who?" Stingy asked, but the kids didn't hear him.

"I think he came back for me too," Stephanie said. "I couldn't stop hearing his awful laughing! At least I didn't see him this time..."

"Who didn't you see?" Stingy asked louder as the kids approached. They looked up with a shared strange expression.

"Stingy," Stephanie asked, "have you been… sleeping okay?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Stingy asked. Stephanie and Ziggy exchanged looks. Before they could say more Trixie stomped down the street and burst into their midst.

"All right, what's the big idea?" the pigtailed girl demanded. "You tell me all about this creepy guy and then he just _happens_ to come and attack me?"

"You saw him?" Ziggy squeaked and crowded in. "Me too! He scratched my window and told me to get out! Did he talk to you too?"

Trixie's face reddened and screwed up in a scowl. She shoved Ziggy back.

"That's not funny!" she shouted. "I only dreamed about scaring you, I didn't do anything. Why should I dream about him when he's _your_ nightmare!"

"That was you?" Ziggy stumbled back and gaped. "But we heard him laughing!"

"Why would you do that, Trixie?" Stephanie stepped between Ziggy and Trixie in the little boy's defense. "We're not joking about this guy, and you're trying to scare us?"

"But I saw him yesterday!" Trixie stomped her foot. "You're the ones pulling a prank!"

"We didn't do anything! It was that man!"

"WHAT man?" Stingy shouted over the others. "Why haven't _I_ seen him in _my_ dreams?"

"You don't want to see him," Stephanie said, "believe me."

"Yeah," Ziggy whimpered, "he's big trouble."

" _You're_ the ones who are trouble!" Trixie barked at them. "I don't know how you're doing it, but stay OUT of my dreams!" The girl stomped away, leaving the others staring after her. Stingy looked to Stephanie and Ziggy.

" _What_ are you all talking about?"

* * *

Stingy couldn't stop shaking his head over what the kids had said. Of course the hot weather made it hard to sleep, but blaming it on some nightmare-guy? Everyone was so bored from not being able to play in the heat that they were making things up in their dreams. Worst of all they were leaving Stingy out.

Well, Stingy could dream about way better things than some weird guy any day. He lay in bed determined to have the best dream ever about living in a mansion made out of solid gold, with solid gold furniture and piggy banks filled with gold coins, and everyone else would wish they could have as nice a dream as he had.

But just as he rested his head on his pillow Stingy heard the distinct _chingling_ noise of his favorite piggy bank being rattled.

"Piggy?" Stingy sat up and squinted around his room. The long shape of a man sat at his desk, holding the bank aloft. The faint light coming in from the window made his eyes glint.

"This bank," the man said in a deep voice, "is mine."

"What?!" Stingy squawked. "Who are you? What are you doing in here?"

The man slipped the bank under his arm and it vanished. He stood up and ran a finger across the desk, scraping his nails on it.

"This desk is mine," the man decided. With a wave of his arm it too disappeared. "The door is mine," and the door was gone.

"You're that creepy guy, aren't you?" Stingy accused him. "Well guess what, buster, this is MY dream, and those are MY things! And I'm not sticking around to let you have them!"

Stingy pinched his arm and gave it a vicious twist. The pain coursed through him like a live wire. He howled and nearly fell out of bed, just managing to grip the sheets and hold on.

The pain continued to radiate out of his arm as he rubbed it. Despite the rude awakening Stingy let out a sigh. He'd left the window open and his room had been filled with warm and muggy air. That probably gave him the bad dream. He reached over to pull the frame down.

A long arm shot out of the dark and slammed the window closed for him. Stingy reeled back in bed as he stared up at the man. His lean frame cut a dark hole in the gloom and his eyes and teeth gleamed crookedly, too close to Stingy.

"Ah-ah-ah," the man ticked his finger at Stingy in mock scolding. "All your dreams," he growled, "are mine."

"No!" Stingy blurted. "This isn't real! YOU aren't real! I'm not—"

"Some children should be seen, and NEVER heard," the man said, and snapped his fingers. And just like that Stingy's voice was gone.

Stingy's mouth kept moving until his eyes widened and he stopped. He felt at his ears and tried to shout, straining the cords in his neck. The vibration hurt his throat but he couldn't utter a sound.

"The floor and ceiling are mine," the man declared next. With those words the room came apart, the ceiling peeling back like paper and the floor falling away. The humid outdoor air rushed in around Stingy in a stifling rush as the bed hung free of support.

"You, Fancy-Boy," the man reached towards Stingy, "are _mine_." Stingy pressed back against his headboard, trying to keep away from the crooked grasping fingers, but had no way to escape him. With a single caress Stingy was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: The TV series "LazyTown" was created Magnús Scheving and is owned by Turner Broadcasting System. This work of fanfiction is solely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters depicted in this story, nor do I gain any profit from using them.

* * *

"Pixel, are you there?" Stephanie waved at the camera on her friend's front door. The lens swiveled towards her and Pixel's voice crackled out.

"Hey, Stephanie. Woah, you look beat. What's up?"

Stephanie brushed some hair out of her face. The oppressive heat kept rising each passing day. It frizzed her hair and made her sweat coat her arms in a sticky peppering. The camera picked up the shadows under Stephanie's eyes too, heavy and dark.

Pixel kept his house cool and dry for his computers and Stephanie shivered as she stepped inside. Once she was settled on the couch she told Pixel everything.

"A guy who ruins dreams? Sounds like your circuits are fried, Stephanie," Pixel said.

"He doesn't just ruin them," Stephanie insisted, "he comes after you! It's like the things he does really happened when you wake up."

"You've got some abnormal data," Pixel allowed, "but the heat's playing tricks on you. My computers do all sorts of crazy stuff when they overheat too."

"You really think that I _and_ Ziggy _and_ Trixie are all dreaming about the same guy because of the heat? Come on, Pixel!"

"Stingy hasn't dreamed about this guy, has he?" Pixel asked. Stephanie frowned.

"I don't know. After the other day he won't come out of his house or even answer the door! He won't answer the phone either. I'm worried he saw that guy and..."

"And what? He's only in your dreams. He's like a computer program. When the program's not running, he's not there. It's not like he's real or something, or he'd be there when you're awake too, right?"

"That's kind of what I wanted to ask you about," Stephanie said. "Trixie pulled this mean joke on Ziggy the other night but she says she only did it in her dream. Do any of your cameras have footage from that night?"

"You want to prove Trixie did it?" Pixel asked.

"Trixie," Stephanie said, "or someone else… maybe you could see if anything else weird has been going on the past few nights too. Would you, please?"

"If it'll help you sleep better," Pixel shrugged, "but it's going to take some time. I'll let you know what I find tomorrow."

"Thank you Pixel!" Stephanie jumped up from the couch. "I'm going to try Stingy again. I'm getting worried about him."

Stephanie ran back outside. The door was only open a few seconds but it let in a humid gust of air like a sickly exhale before the A/C unit dried the room. Pixel shook his head at his friend's crazy ideas. Still, he would honor her request. He sat down and got to work.

Pixel dedicated every monitor to reviewing the footage. Even with so many screens to go over every camera at the same time it kept him busy for the rest of the afternoon and into the night. He was used to staying up late playing games but focusing all of his attention on watching hours and hours of recordings was far more tedious.

The streets of LazyTown remained largely unchanged, black and empty throughout the footage, only the time stamps assuring Pixel that the feeds were playing. Nothing out of the ordinary came up during the night Stephanie first had her nightmare. It was equally uneventful the night that Ziggy claimed to have a nightmare too. Pixel rested his chin in his hand as the glow from the monitors glazed over his eyes in repetitive and unremarkable frames for hours on end.

It wasn't until he was a couple hours into the feeds from the night Trixie had supposedly had her nightmare that Pixel saw anything of interest. The camera overlooking the street to Ziggy's house had been as boring as all the others until suddenly a shape appeared in the far corner of the monitor. Somebody had been taking a midnight stroll, and it was captured on tape.

The shadow was much taller than Trixie. It looked like a man but was too dark to make out defining features. Pixel typed rapidly on his keyboard, trying to improve the resolution and zoom in. He paused the footage just as the man crossed in front of the camera. Was this the guy Stephanie was talking about?

Pixel leaned in and wiped some sweat away from his forehead. His computers thrummed around him and filled the air with a faint electrical smell. The warmth from all of the machines made his eyes heavy and he squinted to focus on the image.

The figure frozen on screen raised his arm and waved. Pixel blinked and checked the time stamp. It was still paused. He stared as the man resumed walking through the frozen scenery, coming closer to the camera with every step.

All across the room the other monitors flashed with pops and sizzles, abruptly erratic in their performance. The various camera feeds broke down into twitchy fragments and artifacts that Pixel couldn't correct or close no matter how he banged on his keyboard. The electrical odor intensified as his computers chugged to process the corrupted video files, raising the temperature a few more stifling degrees.

With a _pop_ every monitor blinked out in unison before coming back online again. On every screen the man's face filled the frame, staring at Pixel with a toothy sneer.

"Found your footage, Gizmo-Guy? I found you..."

The man raised his hand towards the lens, reaching for Pixel. On every screen his hand traced the glass of the monitors before passing through into the bedroom. His ferocious grin stretched on dozens of identical faces as the horde of him crawled out of all the monitors simultaneously, piling in and reaching all their spindly arms and crooked fingers for Pixel.

 _BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP—_

Pixel threw his arms over his head and tumbled out of his chair. The alarm he'd set for himself rang in his ears as he stared around his room. All of the monitors flickered and sputtered with junk data, glitched out beyond recognition. Except for one, its static image smirking back at him.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: The TV series "LazyTown" was created Magnús Scheving and is owned by Turner Broadcasting System. This work of fanfiction is solely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters depicted in this story, nor do I gain any profit from using them.

* * *

Mayor Meanswell mopped dry the shiny skin on top of his head and tried to concentrate on organizing all the papers on his desk. His hands were sweaty however and the pages kept sticking together and smudging under his fingers. He looked up gratefully as Stephanie burst into the town hall, interrupting his work with a balmy breeze from outside.

"Uncle Milford! I need to talk to you!"

"My dear," Milford exclaimed, taking in Stephanie's baggy eyes and limp hair, "you look exhausted! Whatever is the matter?"

"Uncle," Stephanie said, "do you remember the nightmare I had? About that strange man? I think he's real, and he's coming after all of us!"

"A man?" Milford rubbed his head.

"He keeps showing up in our dreams," Stephanie said, "me and Ziggy and Trixie too, and he does these horrible things! And I think he got to Stingy but I can't get him to answer his door. And Pixel," she brought out a folded sheet of paper that she opened with trembling hands, "he found this..."

The printout was grainy and saturated in black ink. The splotches together made up the features of a man's long face, his teeth bared, his eyes glaring. Milford stared at the screen print for several seconds before breathing out a sigh.

"Not again..."

"Again? Uncle, who is this man?"

The mayor stood up from his desk and went around to the bookcase. He pulled down the largest tome on the shelf, the LazyTown Big Book of History. Stephanie came closer as he set it on his desk and flipped through the pages, finding the relevant passage.

"A long time ago," Milford said, "before I was the mayor, even before the mayor who came before me, one of the earliest mayors of LazyTown tried to follow the words of the LazyTown Stone just like we do today, that the town should always be happy. And it was," he rested his hand lightly on the book, "until one day a strange man came to town."

He paused, looking down at the book while the sweat beaded on his bald head. Stephanie remained quiet, watching his eyes as they roved over the pages.

"The man took over the town and tricked everyone into doing what he wanted. Terrible things happened with him around. He poisoned their gardens, framed townspeople and put them in jail, and chased the real mayor out of town. He kept everyone under his control with his machine that made LazyTown a very unhappy place to be."

"What did they do?" Stephanie asked when her uncle stopped. He looked at her.

"The mayor called on the help of a hero. Together they rallied the townspeople and challenged the man's villainy. They took away his power and took back the town, saving everyone."

"What happened to the man?" Stephanie asked.

"He disappeared," Milford said, "after swearing that LazyTown would be his again someday."

Stephanie's eyes widened. "But how is that possible? All of that happened ages ago!"

"Some of the best laid plans take time," Milford said. "And he had all of the time in the world to wait for the perfect opportunity to come back and take what's his."

"There has to be a way to stop him," Stephanie said. "We can get help, just like the last mayor!"

"I'm afraid that isn't possible, my dear," the mayor said. Stephanie's brow wrinkled.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because," he said, "this town belongs to me now, and I won't let go of it again."

"Uncle Milford?" Stephanie stared. Milford wiped more sweat from his head, dragging his fingers through the small tufts of hair over his ears. He gripped a handful in his fist and gave it a sharp tug.

The mayor's face came away like a rubber mask, revealing underneath the crooked leer and burning eyes of someone else. Stephanie stumbled back several steps as the shape of her uncle stretched, his trunk and limbs elongating, transforming before her eyes. The mayor's yellow suit split under the strain with a rending _R-r-ri-i-ip—_ and fell away to expose the dark silhouette of the man, a living shadow.

"Uncle!" Stephanie cried as she bumped up against the railing keeping her from the exit. The long shadow of the tall man fell over her as he crossed the room, his hooked fingers reaching out for her.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: The TV series "LazyTown" was created Magnús Scheving and is owned by Turner Broadcasting System. This work of fanfiction is solely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters depicted in this story, nor do I gain any profit from using them.

* * *

Ziggy's hand shook as he picked the last chocolate coated coffee bean out of the box. His stomach gurgled as he crunched on it. It had taken all night to get through the box. He rubbed his eyes and tried not to yawn.

When he glanced up he startled and stared at his window. A twisted shadow slipped by, darting away. With his heart thumping Ziggy crossed his room to look outside.

"Trixie!" Ziggy opened his window to shout after her. The hot and heavy air rushed in like a wall against his face.

Trixie turned back around. She didn't seem to care about the suffocating heat even as it plastered her pigtails against her scalp and made her clothing stick to her skin. In one sweaty hand she wielded her slingshot, a fistful of marbles clenched in the other.

"What are you doing?" Ziggy gawked.

"I'm looking for that guy," Trixie said. "You can either help me or stay out of my way."

"I'll help," Ziggy quickly said. "But why are you here?"

"This is where I first saw him," Trixie said. "He's got to be somewhere."

Together they went around the side of Ziggy's house where the trash cans were kept. He watched Trixie take the lid off of the cans and peer inside each one. Roosting in a nearby tree a crow cawed and cackled. Trixie slammed the last lid down and kicked the side of the can, making Ziggy jump at the loud _bang_.

"What'd you do that for?" Ziggy complained, wiggling a finger in his ear. Trixie glared at him.

"Where did you first see him?" she demanded.

"The garden," Ziggy said. He made a face. "I haven't been back there since."

The air shimmered with waves of heat and humidity, distorting the buildings as they walked across town. Ziggy turned his head every which way, darting his eyes.

"I don't think this is a good idea," he said. "We should look somewhere else."

"Don't be such a baby," Trixie said. "Don't you want to find this guy and give him a piece of your mind?"

"I don't want to give him anything," Ziggy whimpered. He jerked his head towards a flash of black in his periphery. It was only the crow, flapping languidly in the muggy atmosphere.

The community garden looked withered and brown. Ziggy hung back near the gate while Trixie investigated. She nudged the limp and lifeless plants with the handle of her slingshot and checked behind the apple tree. Nothing stirred.

"There's nobody here, can we go now?" Ziggy asked. "I think my chocolate's melted in my pocket!"

"Come on, Ziggy," Trixie whirled on the boy. "If we don't do something he's just going to keep messing with us, and we'll never get a good night's sleep again!"

"I know," Ziggy mumbled. He dragged his feet as he followed Trixie out of the garden.

They met nobody else as they walked through town. The haze in the air worsened under the midday sun. Ziggy rubbed his eyes to try to make the fuzzy trees and blurry buildings come into focus. He stopped when something finally became clear.

"Ice cream!" Ziggy cried. The ice cream truck had its shutters up and the door ajar. A specter of fog crept out of the small structure from the refrigeration within. "Let's get some, Trixie, can't we?"

"I guess," Trixie said, licking her dry lips. "But make it quick."

Ziggy leaned on the counter and craned his neck around. Nobody was manning the station. He went around to the door and opened it wider. A gust of cold and creamy air made him close his eyes with a sigh. He stepped inside.

The door slammed shut behind him. Trixie's eyes widened as the shutters slammed down on the order counter next. Ziggy shouted but his words were muffled and indistinct. Trixie ran up and tried to pull the shutters back up but they wouldn't budge. She yanked on the doorknob and banged on the door but it too held shut tight.

A fluttering black shadow dove over Trixie's head with a nasty cackle. The crow swooped at Trixie and she threw up her arms before its beating wings could reach her face. The shadow grew until it loomed over her and the cackling turned into a raspy chuckle.

"Were you looking for me, Loud-Girl? Or were you looking for trouble?"

Trixie lowered her arms slowly and stared up at the man. His tall, dark shape didn't belong in broad daylight. His silhouette tainted the air around him with a miasma. Trixie fumbled with the marbles in her clammy hand and dropped most of them. She managed to secure one in the saddle of her slingshot and pulled it taut with a shaky arm, aiming it straight at his gleaming sneer.

"Let him go!" Trixie said, her voice shaking.

"Candy-Boy is going, all right," the man said. He gave the side of the ice cream truck a solid slap with the palm of his hand. The stand creaked and rocked and started to roll. Trixie jumped out of its way as it trundled down the street, quickly gaining speed. Ziggy's cries faded fast, carried out of earshot.

"No!" Trixie fought to keep her aim on the man as he turned his full attention back on her. She let fly with the slingshot, launching the marble with a hard _snap_ of the rubber. The marble hurtled straight for him, right between the eyes.

He raised his hand in the space of a blink, too fast for Trixie to follow. The next thing she knew he had her marble pinched between thumb and forefinger.

"That's enough," the man said. He flicked the marble over his shoulder. "You found me." He moved in, his angled hands grabbing hold of her just as fast, his tight grip making her drop the slingshot. "Now give me a piece of your mind."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: The TV series "LazyTown" was created Magnús Scheving and is owned by Turner Broadcasting System. This work of fanfiction is solely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters depicted in this story, nor do I gain any profit from using them.

* * *

Sportacus had only just finished his morning calisthenics in his airship when something struck the hull outside with a _bang_ and set the floor rocking under his feet. He tumbled and rolled across deck as another hard object hit the exterior of the gondola, then another. _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

He managed to crawl over to the pilot seat and steered the ship out of the line of fire. Banking around Sportacus searched for the source of the attack. He squinted down at LazyTown where small shiny objects came shooting up in an erratic pattern. They looked like mail tubes.

Something was not right. With the airship hovering safely out of range Sportacus ejected the skutla out of the gondola and pedaled hard to intercept the next canister. He snatched the whistling projectile out of midair and darted down towards town to land.

Sportacus jumped out of the hovering transporter and uncapped the canister. He scratched his head at the letter inside. It was gibberish, sloppy handwriting scrawled with a runny pen. Discarding the tube he jogged towards the mail chute.

Looking around Sportacus didn't see who had been shooting all the letters. In fact, he didn't see anyone at all. The air was hot and heavy in the silence after all the wind turbulence he'd endured. His footsteps made the only noise to accompany him through town.

Nobody played in the playground or sat in the shade of the park. The community garden looked as though it hadn't been tended to in a long time, the plants all shriveled and brown. Sportacus' brow wrinkled deeper with every block he paced. LazyTown had never felt so empty before.

"Sportacus!" a crackling voice piped out from a lamppost and stopped Sportacus on the sidewalk.

"Pixel?" He looked around and up at the post. A camera zoomed its large lens on him.

"Come to my house," Pixel's voice sputtered and popped through the camera's speaker before the device powered down with an electric whine.

Sportacus found the door unlocked at Pixel's house. He fanned himself as he entered. The A/C unit chugged and halted in sporadic lurches, puffing out weak wisps of cool air before shorting and leaving the house to its stifling heat. Screens blinked and buzzed with stuttering resolutions as they flickered between displaying properly and glitching out. Sitting at his desk Pixel hunched over his keyboard with one small fan circulating stale air around him and his visor propped up on his forehead, fogged over with humidity.

"I'm here," Sportacus said. "Where's everyone else?" Pixel looked up from his work and Sportacus frowned at the deep shadows under his eyes.

"We're in big trouble, Sportacus," Pixel said. "The kids, they're all… They need your help right away."

"What trouble? I haven't heard anything," Sportacus touched the crystal centered on his chest with a frown. "You look exhausted, have you been getting enough sleep?" Pixel shook his head and turned back to his computer.

"I can't sleep, it's too dangerous. I've been trying to figure this out before it's too late."

"What is 'this,' Pixel?" Sportacus gripped the back of Pixel's chair. "What's going on?"

"It's a nightmare," Pixel mumbled. He finished typing on the keyboard and gazed at the screen in front of him. The light casting on his face gave him a sickly pallor. Endless lines of data stuttered across the screen and made the processor click and stall until finally it cleared to black. The boy turned his chair around. "Someone's been messing with us in our sleep, taking over our dreams. He's got everyone else now but us. You can go into the dream," he pointed past Sportacus to the opposite side of the room, "and save everyone."

A large helmet bristling with prongs and antennae rested on a bed of cords and wires, hooked up to the large array of computer towers against the wall. Sportacus approached the device and lifted it carefully. All sorts of lights blinked across the helmet and it thrummed in his hands.

"I'll do it," Sportacus said, "but how?"

"Put it on," Pixel said, "and go to sleep. It's the only way you'll be able to find them. When you do, help them wake up. I'll keep tabs on everything here, and I can pull you out if anything goes wrong."

The helmet sat heavy on Sportacus' head with all the wires dangling off of it. It hummed against his ears and made his scalp itch and sweat with the snug fit. His eyelids drooped and it felt as though his entire body grew heavier all at once. Pixel turned back around and lowered his visor, watching the computer feeds.

Sportacus sat still and waited to sink all the way into sleep. The vibrations from the helmet made everything fuzzy around the edges through his narrowly slit eyes. It started to give him a headache and the mild vertigo made it difficult for him to doze off.

"I don't think this is working," Sportacus said. "Is there another way?" Pixel didn't answer him, focused on the monitor in front of him. After a few more seconds Sportacus tugged the helmet off and got to his feet. The room still turned slightly with the residual vibrations from the machine and Sportacus placed his steps carefully through the cluttered room.

"Pixel?" Sportacus tried to make sense of the screen. It displayed meaningless strings of characters to him. He turned the chair around to get Pixel to look at him. Once they were face to face he stepped back.

Pixel's visor obscured his eyes with fast scrolling lines of data. He sat motionless and silent while his lenses flickered and glowed like all the other computer screens in the room. Sportacus stared at him a moment longer before turning away. He walked out of the house and into the dream.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: The TV series "LazyTown" was created Magnús Scheving and is owned by Turner Broadcasting System. This work of fanfiction is solely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters depicted in this story, nor do I gain any profit from using them.

* * *

LazyTown had changed in the time that Sportacus had been inside. He shielded his eyes from the sun that somehow had doubled in size and intensity. A hazy gloom washed out the streets and houses everywhere that he looked. As he walked down the road his surroundings appeared flat and artificial in his periphery like backdrops on a stage. The landmarks were there, but they were stilted imitations of themselves.

Movement in the corner of his eye made Sportacus halt and turn. A grasping hand snaked around the side of one of the flat looking houses. Long fingers angled and scuttled on the building like a spider before taking hold, pulling forth a lanky arm and shoulder. The dark shape of the man peered out with one beady eye at Sportacus, the corner of his mouth stretching into view with a sneer.

"Well, now," the man chuckled. "What do we have here?"

"I'm here for the kids." Sportacus put his hands on his hips. "It's time you let them go."

"My, my," the man clucked, "what's the hurry? You just got here. And I intend to keep them for a very long time."

"I can't let you do that," Sportacus said. The man smirked, flashing his long and pointed canines.

"Try and stop me."

Sportacus narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. He pumped his arms, winding into his signature move to dash towards the dark man. But before he could so much as take a step forward the man extended his arm towards Sportacus in a lazy point and snapped his fingers.

Every muscle in Sportacus' body seized up at once. His arms and legs went rigid and rooted him to the spot. Every attempt to move was met with a grating resistance and made him clench his teeth.

The man stepped into the open and circled him in a leisurely orbit, looking him up and down. Satisfied he strolled away. His shadow trailed behind him, stretching into a long black stain on the ground and marking his path as he disappeared behind the house and out of Sportacus' sight.

The sun beat down on Sportacus in unforgiving waves. His scalp itched hot and sweaty under his cap and his skin pricked with the threat of burning. The tendons stood out in his neck with the effort to move any part of his body. His teeth ground together and produced an audible creak in his ears. It was difficult even to breathe.

Perspiration dripped down his face and stung his eyes as Sportacus willed one leg forward, then the other. His locked joints popped and creaked like rusty hinges, forcing him to move with short and stiff steps. He followed the man's shadow, pushing his body harder than he ever had before just to manage a slow walk.

He needed more energy. But in this dream world the trees were mere two-dimensional taunts, as flat as cardboard and bearing no fruit to help him. Sportacus ground to a halt, his breath laborious in his constricted lungs. He grunted from the effort it took to drag one hand up and press the large Ten emblem on his chest.

With a _shoosh_ an apple shot out of his backpack into the air. Sportacus squinted and grimaced against the sun as he put every ounce of strength into holding out his hand. The apple disappeared in the bright glare for a moment before sailing back down and landing in his palm with a reassuring slap. He moved in agonizing slow motion, drawing the sportscandy up to his parted teeth.

A crisp _crunch_ released a burst of cool and sweet flavor, flooding Sportacus with energy. His muscles strained and trembled from the opposing forces inside of him and without, a powerful surge breaking him free of the supernatural restraints. Sportacus threw it off and flexed his arms, almost crushing the apple into a pulp in his fist.

He pumped his arms and charged down the road, sprinting to catch up with the man. His slapping footsteps alerted the fiend to his approach and made him turn around. The dark glinting eyes widened and the toothy sneer twisted into a scowl. Twisting sharply on his heels he bolted away. Sportacus followed close on his heels like a second shadow.

The man was only a hair's breadth away and Sportacus lunged for him. His hands grabbed at the dark figure, grasping only an inky darkness that burst before his eyes into a flurry of scrabbling and flapping crows. Sportacus covered his face from the dark cloud of feathers, beaks, and talons. The birds heckled and cawed with a deafening chorus. Sportacus tumbled head over heels into a somersault, managing to regain his footing with only a few scrapes and bruises.

In the time it took for Sportacus to get his bearings again the crows had vanished, leaving only a faint ringing in his ears. The cackling persisted and Sportacus caught sight of the man once more, standing a respectable distance down the street. The man twirled one crooked finger around in a corkscrew down at the ground. A manhole cover spun itself loose and was flicked away with a careless gesture, banging and rolling out of the way. The air above the open hole wavered and shimmered from the venting of intense heat somewhere below.

The man met Sportacus' gaze, baring his teeth in neither a grin nor a grimace but rather some terrible marriage of the two. His eyes burned in his gaunt face, a fiery glare that competed with the overwhelming sun. He took one short step over the open manhole and dropped down. Sportacus ran over and peered into the hole. The air roiling up out of the manhole snatched at the breath in Sportacus' lungs, hotter than an oven. He could see the pinpricks of the man's eyes still like pilot lights, threatening to set the whole world ablaze.

Sportacus didn't hesitate. Taking one last breath of the outside air he jumped feet first into the hole and plunged into the darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: The TV series "LazyTown" was created Magnús Scheving and is owned by Turner Broadcasting System. This work of fanfiction is solely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters depicted in this story, nor do I gain any profit from using them.

* * *

Sportacus floated in the pitch black as the hot updrafts buffeted him on all sides and made him weightless. The steamy air smothered and scalded him to an unbearable degree until at last a red glow broke through the dark and drew him to the bottom. His feet touched down on concrete with a sizzling _hiss_.

A monstrous machine awaited him, the source of the broiling heat. Sportacus could barely keep his eyes open in the face of the fiery blast. It poured out of the metal monster in a relentless roar, more powerful than any industrial furnace. The rusted and clouded dials, riveted nuts and bolts, and crudely welded metal parts all put together had an effect like a screaming face, stricken in anguish or rage.

Standing in front of the churning and flaming instrument the man's silhouette burned a hole in the glaring light.

"Infernal elf," the man growled. "What do you think you can do by following me down here?"

"The kids need my help," Sportacus declared, "and that's just what I'm here to do."

"Help them?" The man scoffed. "When I came to them in the night, did you help them? When I took them away one by one, did you help them? You can't help anyone here. With this," he gestured grandly to the machine, "the Dream Snatcher, I control all of LazyTown. You are all trapped in my nightmare!"

The machine boomed and bellowed a harsh blast of fire, illuminating the whole of the subterranean chamber. In each of the four corners of the room a wriggling shadow revealed itself in sharp contrast to the burning light. Sportacus spun around and stared into each corner, his jaw dropping. Stingy, Stephanie, Ziggy, and Trixie hung suspended from the walls, strung up like flies in a spider's web. They squirmed in their snares and cried out but couldn't be heard for the roaring furnace.

Sportacus lurched forward one way, then another. He stood paralyzed in the intersection of the four kids while the sweat ran down his face.

"What's it going to be, Hero?" the man taunted him. "Maybe I'll let you get one brat down, but what do you think will happen to the others?" His eyes glinted the hot red of burning coals. "Will you save one of them to doom the rest… or will you save yourself?"

They stared each other down. The air snarled around them in scorching wafts. The longer Sportacus stayed there the more he felt his energy leaving him again, sapped from him by the unrelenting heat. He squinted through the sting of accumulated sweat, keeping the man's wavering black shape in sight.

"I will save everyone," Sportacus said.

"Is that so?" the man sneered.

"Yes," Sportacus said, "starting with you."

The man stiffened up. "What?"

"This is your nightmare," Sportacus held the man's broiling gaze, "isn't that what you said? Then I'll help you wake up, right now." With that he charged towards the raging furnace.

"No!" the man shouted. He threw out his arms and gesticulated wildly after the hero, discharging sharp crackling bolts from his fingertips. _Pop! Pop! Pop!_ The wild electric arcs scorched the walls and floor wherever they hit, but Sportacus threw himself into his own wild twists and somersaults to cross the floor and evade the attack.

Every time his hands made contact with the ground Sportacus grimaced against the sizzling _hiss_ of his burning skin. He lunged up and flipped head over heels to land on the top of the diabolical machine.

Sportacus bit back a cry, the metal of the furnace burning him on contact. He couldn't breathe the air that scalded his lungs, could barely see as his vision blurred in the oppressive heat. Somewhere below him on the angry face of the machine were a battery of levers controlling every function and output.

He tried to perform a back flip but swayed on his feet, his head spinning and his energy drained. Seared and suffocated Sportacus dropped down in a graceless tumble and caught hold of the first two levers he could reach, dragging them down with his weight. They screeched in protest, chafing against blackened rust before slamming down.

The machine belched smoke, crackled and squealed as the whole thing shuddered and rambled. The entire cavernous chamber shook in response, sending up a bone rattling rumble more deafening than the furnace before it. The light of the fire guttered lower, plunging Sportacus into a rapidly darkening oblivion.

* * *

Robbie Rotten jerked upright in his recliner, gasping for air. He pawed at the sweat that drenched his scalp and dripped down his temples. Deep underneath LazyTown his lair was normally cold and drafty but now he found it was sweltering, hotter than an oven.

"Are you okay?"

Blinking out sleep and sweat Robbie stared blearily up at the source of the question. He cowered back in his chair to see Sportacus standing not two feet in front of him, more out of place than even the unnatural heat in the chamber.

"What— how—" Robbie struggled to form a question. His mouth was dry and tacky, his throat parched and tight. "Am— am I awake?"

"Yes," Sportacus assured him.

"I've been asleep," Robbie murmured, staring off, his eyes dazed and unfocused, "for _three days_..."

"Actually, I think it's been five," Sportacus said. He leaned in, his brow furrowed. "Robbie, what happened?"

"I was so tired," Robbie said. He focused his eyes back on Sportacus. "All you noisy people up there always keep me awake. I just wanted to sleep! So I invented a machine—"

"The Dream Snatcher," Sportacus supplied. Robbie's eyebrows shot up on his face.

"Yes. I thought it was only fair if I could get to dream whenever those rowdy kids finally go to sleep. But when I turned the machine on..."

They both looked at the Dream Snatcher, a big hulking monstrosity of metal set in the middle of the floor. Steam poured out of its vents and grates but was otherwise still and silent. Already the lair had started to cool back down to its normal brisk temperature. Robbie shivered in his seat.

"This wasn't what I had in mind," Robbie said.

"You weren't trying to hurt anyone," Sportacus said. "So now, you won't try to do it again, will you?"

"No," Robbie said with a sad shake of his head. "I don't think I'll ever sleep again."


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: The TV series "LazyTown" was created Magnús Scheving and is owned by Turner Broadcasting System. This work of fanfiction is solely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the characters depicted in this story, nor do I gain any profit from using them.

* * *

Bessie Busybody raised her hands up to protect her beehive hairdo as a mild breeze rustled the sheets drying on her clothesline. Behind her in the yard the kids swarmed around Milford and his standing barbecue. They all seemed to pause and breathe in together, letting out a collective sigh.

"My, I thought that heat wave would never break!" Milford said. "The weather has certainly come around." He flipped the burger patties on the grill before him and they sizzled with a satisfying _hiss_.

"The breeze feels so good," Stephanie said, closing her eyes while a smile played on her lips. The wind brushed her bright pink hair against her face. "We should fly some kites!"

"Not kites," Trixie said, "let's get our roller skates and play some street hockey!"

"Can we wait until we've had something to eat?" Ziggy asked, eyeing the smoking grill.

"I just want to stretch out on my lawn chair with Piggy," Stingy said, already hunkering down on the plastic seat with his piggy bank tucked in the crook of one arm.

"What do you think, Sportacus?" Stephanie asked. Sportacus smiled.

"You all have good ideas," Sportacus said. "Why not do them all?" The children laughed. Inside Bessie's house a faint chiming drifted out the open window from a ringing phone. The woman dropped what she was doing and made a beeline to answer the call.

The breeze picked up again and made the sheets snap on the line. Trixie watched the laundry strain against the clothespins that held them fast. "I bet if we took some of Bessie's sheets we could parasail on our skates. We'd go flying!"

"That doesn't sound very safe," Ziggy said.

"That's the point," Trixie said.

The afternoon sun dimmed under a thin blanket of clouds unraveling across the sky. Thicker and darker clouds mounted on the horizon but they weren't near enough yet to rain out the barbecue. It might put a damper on kites or skating, however.

"Sportacus, phone for you," Bessie called out her window. Sportacus quirked an eyebrow before loping across the yard to enter the house. He accepted the receiver from Bessie and raised it slowly to his ear.

"Hello?" He winced at the popping static that answered him.

 _"Sportacus!"_

"Pixel?" Sportacus pressed the phone closer to his ear despite the noisy interference. "Is that you?"

"Sportacus, wake up!" Pixel's voice crackled and oscillated between inaudible whispering and deafening volume. A distant rumble of thunder outside seemed to make their connection weaker. "You've got to wake up, you're still in the—"

 _Click._

"Pixel? Hello? Pixel?" Sportacus shouted into the receiver, but the line had gone silent like a vacuum had sucked out all of the sound. He jumped when Bessie plucked the phone from his grip and slammed it down into its cradle.

"Oh, well, wrong number." Peering around Sportacus into the yard she said, "Dear me, it looks like a storm is coming. We'd better get everyone inside. And all my sheets were just getting dry."

In the short time it took Sportacus to step outside again the sky had already darkened considerably. The mounting clouds moved faster than expected and spattered the first cold wet drops on his upturned face. He blinked and shivered.

"Everyone inside," Milford directed the children. They grumbled and groaned as they filed into Bessie's house. The wind grew stronger and helped usher them in.

Another rumble of thunder rolled through town. The deep bass grumble seemed to draw in on itself, leaving the yard in a breathless silence. The world flashed a dazzling white—

 _CRACK._

A jagged vein of lightning split the sky. The thunder boomed and roared and released a harsh downpour of frigid pelting rain. Sportacus stood there as the water soaked him through and set him to shivering harder. He stared out across the yard trying to see through the lingering spots in his eyes from the lightning and the sheets of rain.

Someone else stood out there with him. It was a man, diminutive but broad in the shoulders. He twisted his mustache around one finger as he looked back at Sportacus. In the next flash of lightning Sportacus saw him wink. When the spots faded from his eyes again he was gone.


End file.
